The Rohan Pride Trilogy

Epilogue: Recovery

Book One

By: WhiteLadyOfTroy

Summary:
The War of the Ring is over, and it is time for Gúthwyn to return home with the children. Yet things are not as they used to be, and many changes are in store for her, whether she would welcome them or not.

About the Epilogue:
I have decided to do what Tolkien did with his books. The Fellowship of the Ring had two books within the text, as did The Two Towers and The Return of the King. The only change I have made is the first part in my Trilogy: Alone. That was divided into three books, the first book explaining how Gúthwyn got to where The Fellowship of the Ring started. Recovery will be divided into two books.

About Chapter Four:
For Imrahil's appearance, I have formed a compromise between the descriptions of the book and the pictures of the movie. The upcoming events are based off of what I have learned from the appendices and various sources concerning the aftermath of the War of the Ring. I wish more was known, but unfortunately, it is not—thus, I have had to do much guesswork and fill in my own beliefs about what happened. Please bear with me.

Chapter Four

"Gúthwyn, wake up."

She groaned, stirring and trying to ward off with her hands the irksome voice. Sleep… that was what she wanted, what she needed…

Something rapped her on the head. Hard. "Wake up."

"Stop," she moaned, feebly protecting herself from the blows with her arms. For Ilúvatar's sake, even the sun was against her—it burned into her eyes, stinging fiercely.

There was another tap on her skull, and she gave up. Blinking rapidly, Gúthwyn struggled to see who was waking her at this hour. Her gaze focused on Cobryn, who was standing smugly over her. He held his cane in his hands.

"Cobryn!" she cried in exasperation, closing her eyes again. But it was no use: She was now fully awake. "What are you doing? It is too early in the morning for this!"

As she spoke, the events of yesterday came rushing back to her in all their wretched glory.

"Gúthwyn, my friend, it is well past noon," Cobryn informed her, now reaching over to pull the warm blankets off of her. He stopped short at the sight of her expression. "Are you all right?" he asked quietly.

She sighed, not wanting to relive the abysmal mess that had been her birthday. "I am just tired," she replied, rubbing at her eyes. "You must be lying. It cannot be anywhere near noon."

"Indeed, it has come and gone," Cobryn responded, whipping the covers off her. Gúthwyn winced as a blast of cool air washed over her.

"Why did you wake me?" she complained, though she was not too angry with him.

"Because I have something for you," he answered with a flourish.

She knitted her eyebrows in confusion as she struggled to sit up. "For me?"

"Aye." Then, to her wonder and delight, he reached behind him and picked up something that had been leaning against the chair: A set of wooden crutches.

For a moment, she stared at them. "Thank you so much," she finally breathed, letting out a sigh of relief. "You have no idea…"

"I think I do," he said, grinning at her joy as he settled into the chair. Lacing his hands together, he regarded her for a time. "Last evening, Hammel told me that it was your birthday."

She winced.

"Why did you not tell me?" he wanted to know, frowning. "I would have had the crutches done sooner. As it was, all I could do was help Hammel write his note."

"It was not important," Gúthwyn told him. Right now, all she really wanted to do was forget about it. "Thank you, though."

He did not look as if he was placated by her comment, but he merely said, "Would you like to walk around the city?"

"Absolutely." She nodded firmly, sick of being confined to her bed. Granted, she had left it on a number of occasions, usually after spending hours arguing about it with the healers, but for the most part she had been lying down the past two weeks.

Smiling, he asked, "Where do you want to go?"

"The Tower of Ecthelion," she answered immediately, sighing as she thought of that which she had been meaning to do for days. "I intend to see my uncle, for I have not yet done so."

Cobryn nodded, sympathy in his eyes. "Do you wish to go alone?" he inquired.

She shook her head. "I will not be long. Besides, I will get lost without someone to help me."

"You do have that remarkable sense of direction," Cobryn smirked, then ducked as she threw a pillow at him.

"Should I send for someone to help you get dressed?" he asked as he straightened. Gúthwyn glanced down at her outfit. She was wearing the same clothes that she had yesterday—she had not changed out of them. All the same, she did not want anyone helping her with such a simple task, one that she had been able to do since she was four years old. The healers had been surprised when she had adamantly refused their aid, but she would not relent.

"No," she said, sitting up straighter. "I will be out in a few minutes."

"Pride, Gúthwyn." Cobryn shook his head in amusement. "You have too much of it."

She forced a thin smile upon her lips. "Then leave your proud friend be, so that she can get dressed and then beg for your company to the White Tower."

He laughed, and got out of his chair. When he had left the room, and the shutting of the door announced his departure, Gúthwyn's shoulders slumped. Yet another reminder of what she had endured at Haldor's hands, of how much dignity she had lost—when would she ever get away from it?

It is no matter, she tried to tell herself sternly. Do not think about him. Get out of bed and get dressed. Cobryn is waiting.

She managed to get to her feet, though she had to hop her way to the set of drawers. It had been placed as far away from her bed as possible, probably because the healers were trying to discourage their patients to do the task themselves. Yet she made her way to it determinedly, and at last pulled out one of the drawers. Briefly she rummaged around in it, withdrawing one of the grey dresses that she had grown accustomed to wearing.

Then she frowned, trying to think of how she would get her clothes off and the new garments on if she only had the use of one leg. Curse these gowns! she thought angrily to herself. Now that she had reassumed her position as a lady, she would be forced to wear them every day.

Already feeling the burdens of the civilized world, she somehow worked her way through the arduous process of getting dressed. There was one moment when she needed to rely on her bad ankle for support, and though it pained terribly it mercifully did not give out on her. Then she hopped back to her crutches, realizing sheepishly that she could have used them on her way to the dresser, and put them under her arms.

She opened the door to see Cobryn in a nearby chair waiting for her. "Sorry for the delay," she apologized, motioning to the crutches. "I still need to get used to these."

"No matter," he said, getting to his feet. "Are you ready?"

"No," Gúthwyn replied. A faint smile spread across her face. "I need to see Hammel."


"Éomer?"

"My apologies," the king of Rohan muttered, rubbing his eyes. The morning's meeting, regarding what was to be done about the Corsairs of Umbar—legions of pirates who controlled Gondor's largest trade port—had completely drained him of energy. When he became a king, he had known that there would be many such instances where he was utterly sick of his duties, but he had not imagined that he would feel so overwhelmed every day.

"You look tired," Elessar said as they made their way down the winding stairs of the White Tower. A host of councilors and scribes was behind them, each carrying several scrolls and bottles of ink.

"My lord, you are hardly one to talk," Éomer replied. Aragorn's eyes revealed the exhaustion of countless council sessions, signed treaties, pardons given, and all the other work to which he was bound as the King of Gondor.

The former Ranger gave a sardonic laugh. "I suppose you are right," he admitted. "Perhaps I should have delayed last night's meeting."

"No, that was one of the few that held my attention the entire way through," Éomer answered. Much of what had been discussed then would affect his people, and he had needed to be well aware of what exactly he was agreeing to with each treaty. Aragorn would never do anything dishonorable, but it was not the mark of a king to blindly sign his way through his reign. Just as my uncle did, he thought briefly, and then immediately berated himself. Théoden's senility had been due to Wormtongue, who had received the death that he deserved: unmourned, his body unburied.

However, the meeting—which had concluded with arrangements to travel to Halifirien at a later date and re-exchange the vows of friendship that Eorl and Cirion had sworn hundreds of years ago—could have been called at a better time. Gúthwyn's birthday had also been yesterday, and from his understanding, Éowyn had assumed that the two of them would be able to have dinner with her in a small celebration. Never had he felt the constraints of being a king so sharply as when he had sent little Hammel to her with the news that she would be on her own for the night. He hated having to leave her alone, but there was nothing to be done.

Éomer was so preoccupied that he did not notice when Aragorn began to speak again, and was rewarded with his name being sharply called.

"Sorry," he said ruefully. "I was lost in my thoughts."

"I can see that," King Elessar muttered, although he was not angry. "Hopefully Prince Imrahil will be able to entertain you more, but until tonight I am afraid you will have to tolerate my less than compelling presence."

Ah, the Prince Imrahil. Éomer had quite forgotten that he, his daughter Lothíriel, and his sons Elphir, Erchirion, and Amrothos were due to arrive in Minas Tirith today. Imrahil had been with them during the War of the Ring, but afterwards he had gone back to his realm of Dol Amroth beside the sea to ordain his country according to the new laws of the Free Peoples. Éomer had spoken with the prince before, and found his company quite enjoyable. Imrahil it was who had first perceived that Éowyn was alive, when all had thought her dead.

"Well," Éomer said as they came into the throne room, "I suppose I can bear it for a few more hours."

Aragorn sent him a good-natured glare, but their banter was interrupted when Faramir entered the room from one of the lower chambers. Éomer watched the Steward of Gondor as he came over to them. At first, he had been loath to even allow Éowyn to spend time with him, once she had made it clear that he had captured her heart. He had not understood the change that came upon her, so drastic and unprecedented that he had wondered if her mind had been damaged by the Nazgûl's assault.

Yet he had observed her and Faramir from afar, oftentimes when they were not aware of him. His men had teased him endlessly about it, adding in more serious tones that he was far too cautious for his own good, but he had persisted. And he had seen for himself the tenderness with which the Steward treated his sister, and the esteem she clearly held for him. It still mystified Éomer as to how their love had been born—though if Faramir made Éowyn happy, as was most certainly the case, he would not deny her such a husband. As much as he was reluctant to see her go, he had known that this would eventually come, and Faramir would see that she was well cared for.

Indeed, Faramir was a worthy man. He had fought courageously against the enemies of Gondor, and had a noble, chivalrous air about him. Not once had Éomer heard an unkind word from him, and he had tried so hard to make amends with the king of Rohan for the crime of loving his sister that it was almost laughable. Éomer had been tempted to delay the announcement of his consent, just for the amusement of seeing him on tenterhooks, but in the end he had relented.

"Greetings, Faramir," Éomer now said, inclining his head towards the man. Faramir bowed low, a relieved smile on his face as he returned the welcome.

"How did your search go?" Aragorn inquired. The Steward had been excused from the meeting in order to go through his father's possessions, many of which had been locked away in various underground rooms.

"I went through his letters and most of his books," Faramir replied with a grimace.

Éomer left them then, not wanting to broach what was likely a sensitive topic. He was about to go to see Théoden, who lay not too far away on a bier surrounded by guards, but then someone hailed him.

Turning around, he saw Legolas approaching him. "May I have a word?" the Elf queried, a stray beam of sunlight making his hair golden. "It is about Gúthwyn."

Éomer's eyes narrowed. "Is she all right?" he demanded immediately, drawing closer. He thought he saw Faramir glance in their direction, and shifted so that his back was to the man.

It was one of the few times he had seen the Elf look discomforted. "I was speaking with her last night," he said in a low voice. "She had gotten out of bed and was walking around the sixth level."

Éomer winced. "By herself?" He could only imagine how much damage she had wreaked upon her ankle and ribs. What on Middle-earth had possessed her to defy her healers in this manner, he did not know.

"Yes," Legolas confirmed, and then hesitated. "Éomer," he began at length, "it may not be my business, but… she was rather upset last night."

The king of Rohan felt his spirits deflate. He had hoped that Gúthwyn would forgive him for not seeing her on her birthday. "She was?" he asked quietly.

Legolas nodded, and seemed reluctant to continue. "It is my impression that she has been… rather lonely the past two weeks. She knows that you and Éowyn are busy, and she was half-ashamed at her words, but she feels like she has not seen her brother and sister at all."

With Legolas' words came a horrible wave of guilt. It was true. Éomer had barely spoken to either of his sisters this month. A wave of visitors, meetings, and treaties had kept him so busy that he hardly even had time to sleep, never mind visit his family.

Now he groaned, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. "I feel horrible," he muttered, more to himself than to Legolas. "I should have sent her a gift, or…"

"Spend some time with her," Legolas told him firmly. "Something tells me she would rather have your company than a present."

Éomer looked at him, and the Elf bowed. "My apologies," he said. "I would not have spoken, but for the fact that it grieved my heart to see her so miserable."

The king of Rohan was about to respond when the sound of the doors opening attracted his attention. Turning, he saw Gúthwyn making her way inside, using a pair of crutches as a support. Cobryn, Hammel, and Haiweth were with her. She had come to see Théoden.

"Good luck," Legolas said softly, and left him.


"Remember," Gúthwyn cautioned in an undertone to Hammel and Haiweth, just before the guards opened the doors into the White Tower, "be very quiet. There might be a council occurring, and it would not be good to disturb the men."

Haiweth pouted, already disliking the place, but Gúthwyn knew she would not utter a sound unless spoken to. Being rather accustomed to silence, Hammel did not even blink. He merely exchanged a glance with Cobryn, who had gone with them to the Tower, desiring to look upon the king as well.

As the doors swung open, Gúthwyn glanced into the hall beyond, and what she saw made her heart freeze. For gathered in the foyer were three men whom she least wished to see, out of fear that she would not be able to conceal her emotions: Éomer, Legolas, and Faramir. The latter was speaking with Aragorn and various other Gondorian nobles. Éomer and Legolas were conversing together, but upon her entrance Legolas nodded at her brother and left.

Nearly everyone in the hall was staring at her and the children. Some of them, she did not doubt, thought they were her own—though they knew she was not married. Those close to her watched sympathetically as she navigated her way towards King Elessar, wobbling slightly on the crutches. Legolas passed her by while she went, and when he gave a short bow to her she nearly lost her footing. Cobryn had to steady her before she was able to continue again.

"Your highness," Gúthwyn said when she at last stood in front of Aragorn. She could not very well curtsy, but she managed to incline her head in what she hoped was a respectful manner. Her hands trembled as she became aware of Faramir's keen gaze settled on her.

"Lady Gúthwyn," Aragorn greeted her, a smile on his face though his eyes were tired. "I trust you are out with the permission of your healers?"

She flushed, and he chuckled. "I am sure they would not begrudge me a few hours," she muttered. The nobles' eyes never blinked as they followed her, occasionally settling on the children; then she realized she had not introduced Hammel or Haiweth. "My apologies," she murmured. "You have met Cobryn"—her friend bowed deeply—"but have you met Hammel and Haiweth?"

The two children shuffled forward, Haiweth unwilling and staring up nervously at all the unfamiliar men. Hammel gave a small bow.

"Indeed, I have had the pleasure," Aragorn said. Éomer joined the group then, and though she gave him a hesitant smile, she hastily reverted her attention back to the King. "We saw each other when I went to inquire about your condition at the beginning of May."

"Pray tell, my lady," one of the nobles said then, his voice smooth as silk, "are those wonderful children yours? I was not aware that you were married."

"They are not," Éomer quickly replied.

"I am taking care of them," Gúthwyn explained, smiling at the Gondorian. He did not look as if he approved of the idea, but did not deign to say anything. Once or twice, his eyes flicked to Cobryn. Hammel glared at him briefly.

"Gúthwyn," Aragorn began, gesturing towards Faramir, "have you met the Steward of Gondor?"

She could feel her heart painfully constricting as she met eyes with Borogor's killer. "Yes," she said, though her voice was hardly more than a whisper. "Yes, we have met."

"Actually, my lord," Faramir started awkwardly, "I think I shall return to my father's library, for I hope to be done cleaning it by this evening. If you will excuse me."

With that he bowed, and hastily left the throne room. Éomer's eyes narrowed as he went; Aragorn glanced back and forth between her and the departing Steward. "Is there a grievance between the two of you?" he inquired in a low voice.

"A grievance?" Gúthwyn echoed, assembling her features into a puzzled expression. Aragorn did not press the issue, though she knew that he did not believe her words as readily as the others did. In order to take his mind off of the matter, she said, "I was wondering if I might be permitted to see Théoden, for I have not yet gotten the chance to."

"Of course," Aragorn replied. "Would you like assistance?"

"I can make do with the crutches, thank you," Gúthwyn said, smiling. With a nod of her head, she excused herself, motioning for Hammel and Haiweth to follow. Éomer bowed, and fell into step beside her as she began making her way towards the dais. Her jaw clenched as she saw him.

"How are you?" he inquired softly.

"I am fine," she answered, trying not to think of her miserable birthday.

Her brother did not say anything, and soon they had reached Théoden's bier. Hung with green and white cloth, it was surrounded by twelve guards: six from Rohan, and six from Gondor. She saw Tun there, his eyes fixed on her. A small smile briefly illuminated her face, though it quickly dissipated when she looked down at her uncle.

All of the years seemed to have melted from him, and in the flickering light of the torches born by the guards he appeared to be a young, hale man again. A blanket of gold covered him, upon which was laid his sword Herugrim. At his feet was the shield he had born into battle. Sorrow drenched her, and for a long time she stood with her head bowed, staring at his motionless face.

It pained her to realize that she had never truly reunited with him. The lies of Haldor had poisoned her against him, so that for years she had loathed his memory. Even when she had returned to Rohan, she had still been ill at ease around him, and cringed from his touch whenever he embraced her. The whispers of Haldor had continued, always seeking to turn her away from him. And so Gúthwyn had not loved her uncle the way she should have, nor had she been able to grieve much for his passing—only her regret made it difficult to bear.

A small hand clenched hers. Looking down, she saw Haiweth's wide eyes staring up at her, arms uplifted for a boost. The girl could not see over the top of the bier.

"Will you hold these?" she mouthed at Cobryn, gesturing towards the crutches. He frowned, clearly not liking the thought of her abandoning the supports when she had not yet recovered from her injuries, yet accepted them all the same.

"Gúthwyn," Éomer muttered, of equal mind as Cobryn, but she ignored him and reached down to pick Haiweth up. Her ribcage screamed in protest as she lifted the girl. Settling her comfortably onto her hip, conscious to avoid contact with her ribs, Gúthwyn edged closer to the bier so that Haiweth could see better.

"Is that your uncle?" Haiweth asked curiously, one thumb firmly in her mouth.

"Yes," Gúthwyn whispered, adjusting her arms so that they carried less weight. Either Haiweth had gotten heavier, or she had gotten weaker. Likely the latter, she thought ruefully.

"Was he nice?" Haiweth wanted to know, gazing steadily at Théoden. Her brow was knitted in concentration.

Gúthwyn swallowed. "He was a good man," she at last said.

Haiweth rested her head on Gúthwyn's shoulder. "Do you think he is with Mama and Papa?"

"Haiweth," Hammel hissed as loudly as he dared. His fists were clenched, the frame of his thin body taut.

"He may very well be," Gúthwyn murmured, wincing slightly: Her ribs were beginning to hurt.

No one said anything for another moment, and at length Gúthwyn lowered Haiweth to the floor. "I think it is time to go," she decided.

Cobryn handed her back her crutches, and she accepted them gratefully. Éomer stirred. "Are you going back to the Houses?" he queried.

Gúthwyn shrugged, not liking the suggestion in the least. Her brother saw the expression on her face and chuckled quietly. "I thought not," he spoke. "Would you care to join me for the afternoon? Some of the men are training in the first level—perhaps we could observe them."

Her eyes lit up, widening at the same time. Amidst the line of somber guards, Tun briefly smiled. "Really?" she asked, wondering why he did not have a meeting. "Are there not duties you have to attend to?"

He shook his head, looking pleased at her delight. "None today."

"I would love to accompany you there," Gúthwyn declared, beaming. Slowly but surely, the memories of yesterday were fading from her mind.

"Excellent!" Éomer exclaimed.


Ten minutes later found Gúthwyn, Éomer, and the children making their way down to the lower levels of the White City. Cobryn had decided not to go, saying that he needed some rest. Gúthwyn was not too concerned; she was content to spend her time with her brother, whom she had not seen for days.

"How was the meeting last night?" she inquired tentatively as they came to the fourth level.

"It went well," Éomer replied, watching her carefully. At length, he sighed. "Gúthwyn, I am sorry for—"

"It is fine," Gúthwyn said, cutting him off with a wave of her hand. "I am just glad that we are together now." Hammel glanced at her.

Éomer still did not look satisfied. "Is there anything I can—"

"Éomer, please, do not trouble yourself. I am fine," Gúthwyn insisted.

He opened his mouth to respond, but at that moment a horn sounded in the distance. It had a clear ringing voice, somehow bringing to Gúthwyn's mind thoughts of the far off sea, though she had never swum in its waters before.

"The delegation of Dol Amroth!" Éomer said then, recognizing the call. "They were supposed to arrive today."

"Let us go down to the gates, then," Gúthwyn suggested. The gates were crudely constructed wooden ones, mere echoes of those that had been knocked down by Sauron's servants, though apparently Gimli had agreed to write to his relations in the distant mountains for aid in building new ones.

Éomer agreed to this, and the children seemed excited at the idea of seeing new people, so they hastened their strides. Already the streets were crowded with Gondorians flocking to the first level. Gúthwyn had to work to make sure that she did not bump into anyone, for fear of hurting them with her crutches; she also kept a close eye on the children, not wanting to become separated from them.

When they at last arrived at the gates, she could not see very well, as they were in the back of a large mass of people.

"What is going on?" Haiweth complained, her view obscured by countless pairs of legs.

To Gúthwyn's slight surprise, Éomer reached down and picked the girl up, hoisting her on his broad shoulders so that she was two feet above everyone. At first, Gúthwyn was worried that Haiweth would fall, but Éomer was holding her tightly.

"Brother," Gúthwyn teased him, smiling, "what will the men say of their tough king now?"

He growled at her, though he knew she was jesting. "Say what you will, sister," he retorted. "When we return home, I will force you to endure manners lessons for that comment."

She rolled her eyes. "Whom would that torture more: me, or the teacher?"

"Is that Prince Imrahil?" Hammel asked then, standing on his tiptoes to see over the crowd.

Éomer's eyes focused on the person now riding in on horseback. "Yes, it is," he answered, a broad smile on his face. "Imrahil is a wonderful gentleman, and a fine dinner companion."

Gúthwyn watched the prince as he waved to the people, clearly pleased to return to Gondor. His hair was a light shade of brown, framing a pair of eyes grey as the sea along which he lived. He was robed in royal blue, with the emblem of a ship embroidered onto the front. When she squinted at it, she saw with a start that the ship was actually a swan, its proud neck elegantly raised and its wings neatly folded.

"His sons," Éomer murmured, and she drew her attention away from the prince to see three tall men riding behind him. They were all dark-haired and exceedingly handsome; Gúthwyn saw many a giggling woman and knew that she was not alone in her observations.

"What are their names?" she asked, standing on her tiptoes. The older two she could barely distinguish from one another, as they were wearing the same cloaks, but the youngest had removed his and was smiling rakishly at the maids.

"Elphir is the oldest," Éomer replied. "Then there is Erchirion, and the youngest is Amrothos. Yet I wonder…" He trailed off, and she looked at him questioningly.

"Lady Lothíriel!" someone cried then. A great uproar rose among the people as the last of the party rode in through the gates. There were two guards on either side of a woman, so strikingly gorgeous that many men were awed and sunk to their knees as she passed. Her hair was long and dark, nearly black in its shade; it tumbled freely down shoulders clad in a simple white dress that merely enhanced her beauty. She waved once or twice at her hailers, though was mostly gazing around at the White City, her blue-grey eyes coolly surveying her surroundings.

Gúthwyn turned to her brother to marvel at what must have been Imrahil's daughter, but her words died on her lips when she saw Éomer's face. He was staring at Lothíriel like a man entranced, struck utterly still by lightning or some other great force.

"Éomer!" she admonished him, slapping his arm to get his attention. He started, and when he saw her laughing a flush spread across his face. "Really, brother, it is not becoming of a king to stare at a woman so openly. Perhaps it is you we should be teaching manners to."

"If you were not crippled…" Éomer said, allowing her to imagine the rest of his threat. Indeed, his attention was soon distracted by Lothíriel once more. Gúthwyn sighed in impatience as his eyes followed the princess, only turning back to her when the delegation had passed.

"Éomer, please," she snorted. "You look like a fool. Besides, she is out of your reach."

"What do you mean by that?" Éomer demanded. "I am your king, need I remind you."

"Aye," Gúthwyn conceded, giggling, "though I bet she has at least been taught not to stare at those who catch her fancy. Besides, she barely even returned the peoples' greetings. She must be haughty."

"And yet I would say you return the peoples' affections overmuch," Éomer retorted, his eyes narrowing at her. She blinked, not understanding what he was referring to.

"Whatever do you mean by that?" she asked at last, when he did not elucidate.

He gave her a long look. "I speak of your champion," he finally said. "It has not escaped my attention the favor you have been showing him, nor the fact that he can barely take his eyes off of you."

"Of course I am showing him favor!" Gúthwyn cried. "He is one of my best friends, and he has sworn his service to me! Brother, I do not doubt that you disliked him from the first day we met."

"Perhaps I had reason to," Éomer muttered, the spark in his eyes fading as he lowered Haiweth to the ground. "I was not pleased when he pulled you onto his lap at the party. Do you not know what that looks like?"

"He was drunk," Gúthwyn said witheringly, slightly irritated that he was so determined to distrust her every male friend. "As was everyone—even you."

"What does drunk mean?" Haiweth asked, wrinkling her nose.

Gúthwyn smiled. "How about this, Haiweth: When the next party we attend finishes, I will bring you to my brother. Then you shall see for yourself what drunk means."

A very small, faint grin tugged at the corners of Hammel's lips.

"Now, Gúthwyn," Éomer said, pretending to be offended, "that is hardly the impression I want these children to be getting of me. And you know fully well that I can hold my ale better than many."

"Yes, but the Valar know how much practice you have had," she snickered, and earned a light blow to the head for her remark.

"All right, have it your way," Éomer grumbled. All around them, the crowd was dispersing. "Shall we go see if the men are still training?"

"Yes, let us," Gúthwyn agreed, and they set off down the street.